


In Which John Gets Chubby And Sherlock Is Entirely To Blame

by kittensandcake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, john's gotten chubby and blames it on Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensandcake/pseuds/kittensandcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takeaways are the most common source of nutrition in 221B. So, as a doctor, John has to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which John Gets Chubby And Sherlock Is Entirely To Blame

Cooking was a testy subject in 221B. Mainly it was John who would take on the task, whipping up the odd egg and toast for breakfast when Sherlock could be so inclined. Sometimes Sherlock would try, and then John would complain that the smell of smoke actually could hang around for more than two weeks, even if Sherlock said otherwise. It was worse when both of them complained about who was cooking that night, and most of the time a takeaway was ordered and nothing else was said on the matter. It was this resulting influx of takeaways that had two results. The first being that most of the restaurants that offered food to go had son learned who liked what, which John was conflicted over, and the second being the pounds that John had begun to put on. When he first suggested more home cooked meals, he had been met with adamant refusal, and Sherlock had ended up bribing him with kisses - and for one week, blowjobs - just to get him to stop saying that he'd make things himself. Eventually, John had ended it with a cookbook. 

\---

"What on earth is that?" Sherlock prodded at a twisted, gnarled looking root that John had brought back from the shops, only to be shooed away. 

"It's called ginger, I thought you would know that. I'm going to try something from that book I bought, because we are eating far too much Chinese," 

"So you're going to make your own Chinese instead?" 

John shot a look at Sherlock, before he huffed and took the ginger away from the man, who was about to put some under his microscope. "Yes. But it's going to be healthier, and you're going to like it. It's that ginger beef you always get, you know, from the place down the road? The Lucky Dragon, or something like that? I'm making it from a different recipe though, one that doesn't use as much oil or sugar,"

Sherlock looked at John for roughly five minutes, before he moved over to his armchair and flopped down into it, a vaguely irritated expression on his face. He liked the taste of that particular restaurant for a reason, and John simply thought that he could recreate it? After months of making nothing but egg on toast, with the odd venture into beans, or possibly the pancakes that John was fond of, Sherlock doubted John's culinary prowess. 

However, as John's face began to grow pinker, his jumper stripped off and sleeves rolled up, Sherlock soon began drawn to the kitchen. It smelt...good. Very good. Sour yet sweet at the same time, almost equal to the same smell that the Lucky Dragon had, minus the odd scent of mothballs. Sherlock had yet to discover the source of that particular aroma, but blamed it mainly on the slightly dusty curtains at the front of the restaurant. John's cheeks were pink now, and there were a few drops of sauce on his cheek, probably where he had gotten a little over zealous with tossing the stir fry. Sherlock wrapped his body around John's as he leaned over his shoulder, turning his head slightly. 

"That doesn't smell half bad," 

"You're not trying to compliment me, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm just saying that you've managed to keep the beef looking like beef, not some charred shell like with the lamb-"

"That was your fault, and you know it. Besides, I think it smells great. You will like it," 

Sherlock huffed, glancing at the drops on John's cheek before his tongue snaked out to grab them. John let out a quick sound of surprise, and Sherlock merely grinned at him before wrapping his arms more securely around his middle, just as John's cheeks turned an incredibly attractive shade of puce. "Well, the sauce is passable. Why are you doing this, anyway? I like your...chub, as you so eloquently put it," 

John let out a groan at that, and rolled his eyes. "I'm not fond of it, and anyway, it's not just the fat. We're not that young, you know, and we will suffer if we have too much sugar, it'll lead to high blood pressure, clogged arteries-"

"I know, John. Relax," Sherlock sighed into his ear, smiling as he began to kiss his cheek and jaw. "So, I guess now not even I can convince you to go back to takeaways?"

"Exactly. Regardless of what you do, I'm cooking now. We'll have takeaway when neither of us can cook,"

"That sounds like a horrendous amount of effort just for food,"

"Good,"

\---

When they had finally sat down, after Sherlock had painstakingly removed each and every one of his experiments from the table, all the time fretting about how they would be ruined now, John dished out the food. "Voila. Ginger beef stir-fry with brown rice and low-fat prawn crackers," He waved his fork at the set up, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. 

"The rice should be white, and you didn't make those crackers came from Tescos,"

"Just shut up and eat,"

A few mouthfuls into his meal, Sherlock was intrigued. A few later, and he was eating rather quickly. Around his twentieth mouthful Sherlock looked blissed out of his mind, eating heartily for the first time in...John couldn't even remember. Days? Weeks? Months? He beamed at the man as he ate more slowly, his toes curled under the table as Sherlock's own lanky legs stretched out, one either side of his calves. When Sherlock had effectively cleaned his plate he leaned back in his seat, looking at John with a very pleased smile on his face. 

"I have to say, my compliments go to the cook," He chuckled, smirking over at the other as one foot traced up the other's thigh. "Looks like I won't have to distract you from cooking with sex until we return to takeaways,"

John choked on his food, shooting Sherlock a dirty look as he took a quick gulp of water. "You're mad. Just because I wouldn't give you takeout food?"

"Well, at that point it was a life or death situation, all which hung in the balance of your cooking," 

"Like I said; you're mad," 

"I love you too,"


End file.
